Change is in the air.  An often used phrase that for some means simply that, change is coming. For others like ourselves that rely on the changing seasons and dominant weather patterns to drive our pursuits each year, the “change in the air” is felt quite literally.  On opening day of Ohio’s archery season, a strong cold front descended upon the northern half of the state with nighttime lows forecasted to bottom out into the thirties for the first time this fall. The air felt thin and crisp, with a light wind cutting much deeper than the typical fall breeze. Chris took advantage of the favorable conditions and climbed into his tree stand hoping that the front would have deer moving before dusk.  He was right.  A well placed shot made tracking easy, and Chris’s largest archery whitetail met its end about an hour before sunset. Beautiful deer man, and I look forward to sharing a tree this coming weekend.

The funny thing about a cold front this time of year is that it can make deciding how to spend your time very difficult. The evening before opening day, dad and I decided to take advantage of the remaining warmer air with a night of flathead fishing. Bait was gathered and gear packed, with fishing conditions highly favorable as we approached the lake.  Luckily we thought to pack warmer clothes, as the cold front slammed home early pushing nighttime temperatures down into the forties.  Cloud cover vanished and a bright moon rose high above the water.  With a fine set of baits in place, we hunkered in for the long haul.  At about 1:20 AM, the familiar sound of a clicking reel woke us from our nap.  Dad lowered his rod tip after feeling the fish steadily moving off and set the hook. You could almost feel the fish’s anger in the blistering run that it put on initially, taking 50 yards of line dead away from the boat.  This is not typical of most flathead when hooked, so we didn’t have a clear idea of the caliber of fish we were dealing with. After planing to the side and briefly tangling itself in some underwater cover, the fish tired and came to the boat.  With a well aimed scoop, another healthy flathead came aboard the Lowjaw.  This stout 42.5 pound male would end up being our only run of the trip, but made it well worth the work. As with all of our fish, he was quickly released after weight and photos were taken.

After a quick work week, it was flathead time again. With a tank full of solid baits and gear loaded up, I headed to the lake. I made it to the spot of choice early and set up Camp Catfish while my dad and uncle made their way from work. This time of year it seems each day is noticeably shorter than the last, and we worked hard to get baits into position before dusk.  I had one short run right at sunset that ended up being a small channel catfish biting off more than he could chew, then all fell quiet.  A near full moon rose above us, diminishing my expectations for the night as it illuminated the lake shore to an inky, erie gray. The night rolled on without a tick until some dense cloud cover moved in and shadowed the moonlight.  Almost just as quick, a bait clicker signaled a run.  Dad jumped into action, and hooked the fish that had eaten his bait.  After a brief tussle a small flathead of about 5 pounds was netted and quickly released.  Another bait was selected and re-deployed on the same rod, and we settled back in with new, higher hopes.  Within ten minutes the same rod signaled another run, and dad swung back hard hooking a more sizable fish. A second flathead of around 25 pounds quickly arrived at the net, and was promptly released as well.  Again, a new bait was placed as we discussed our theories about the changing conditions and sudden feed that followed.  About a half hour passed before I noticed the line on one of my rods slowly moving to the right.  I got to the rod just as the clicker began to roll and slipped it off.  Feeling the fish move steadily, I drove the hook home.  I knew right away that this was a larger adversary, as the fish shook its head and drove down further into the depths taking line as it went.  I called for my dad to come over with the net as the fight continued.  This fish just wouldn’t seem to tire, and each time I’d gain five yards of line he’d take ten right back.  My knees started shaking as thoughts of giant flatheads filled my brain, wondering what I’d hooked.  Finally the fish tired, and rolled into the extended landing net.  He was a big boy, but had fought well above his weight.  The fish was quickly weighed, then placed on a bridle rope to recover. Daylight revealed a gnarly battle scar on the big male’s head from previous spawning activity. A true warrior of a fish, this healthy 42.2 pound brute was released to continue his fall feeding in preparation for winter.

On October 21st, Chris, Joe, and I piled into Chris’s truck and headed to the lake once more.  With the Lowjaw in tow this time, we planned to set up on a familiar late-season spot to see what might be roaming. We arrived well before dark and anchored the boat into position.  A range of baits from bullheads to giant goldfish were deployed, and the wait began.  Just as darkness began to set in, one of Chris’s rods thumped in the rod holder and quickly went slack.  We watched closely for a moment, noting that his line was hardly moving and that it looked like the frightened struggle of the large goldfish he was using for bait.  Several minutes passed before we began to note the line slowly moving toward the boat.  Chris picked up the rod and retrieved line as the other end continued to come directly towards us ever so slowly.  He had reeled almost all the way to the boat as the line crept below us.  Joe and I watched in total silence as the tip of the rod began to gently bend toward the water.  Feeling this weight, Chris drove the hook home.  His rod tip didn’t budge an inch as the whole blank flexed hard to the cork. A leviathan thrashed below the boat and took line as it threatened to wrap up in the anchor rope.  For several minutes this continued. Chris would gain line, then the fish would take it right back down to the bottom of the lake, bulldogging in large circles as it went.  As the fish began to tire, I came to the edge of the boat and flipped on my dim headlamp.  A sizable brown shape appeared from the depths thrashing back and forth, and a quick scoop of the large net secured it. The hook actually popped from the fish’s mouth as soon as it reached the net, sending the rig skyward over our heads.  I grunted trying to lift the fish over the side of the boat, and had to get better footing to drag it aboard. An absolute creature of a flathead filled up the front deck of the boat as we rushed around for pliers, my sling, and a scale.  The beast tipped the scale to 50.5 pounds exactly, making it the largest fish caught by our group yet this season.  After a few quality grips and grins, Chris released the fish to “grow up” as our old friend Robby would say.  This would again be our only run of the night, as we endured low 40’s temperatures huddled in sleeping bags once more.  But it’s always worth it.

Our brief bout of fall-like weather this year has quickly given way to early winter conditions. As I write this, temperatures are falling back into the 30’s for what seems like the 6th or 7th day in a row.  With lake temperatures falling fast, the door on the 2017 flathead season is closing.  I hope to fish at least one more night when favorable conditions return, then the focus will shift entirely to sitting in a tree or chasing silver ghosts. But it’s not over ’till the fat lady sings, and here’s to hoping she has whiskers.

 

Ironscale, out.